"Yes, a long, stout rope," sez he, a-standin' still and a-breathin'
hard. Why, he looked that wild and agitated and wrought up, that the
idee passed through my mind:

Is that man a-contemplatin' suicide? Does he want to hang himself?

But, as I sez, the idee only jest passed through my fore-top; it didn't
find any encouragement to stay--it went through on the trot, as you may
say.

No, my noble-minded pardner never would commit suicide, I knew. But his
looks wuz fearful, and I sez, almost tremblin'--

"What do you want the rope for? I don't know of any rope, only the
bed-cord up in the old chamber."

At these words, that agitated, skairt man rushed right upstairs, I
a-follerin' him, summer-savory still in my hands, and fear and tremblin'
in my mean.

And I see him dash up to the old bedstead in the attick, dash off the
bedclothes and the feather-bed, and beginnin' oncordin' of it.

I then laid hands on him, and commanded him to desist.

"I won't desist," sez he, "I won't desist."

There wuz I, still a-holdin' him by the back of his frock--he had on his
barn clothes.